Ghost Train
by Merccy
Summary: Love is a ghost train, rumbling through the darkness . . . " Delving deeper into Jesse and Amelia. COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

Title: "Ghost Train"

By: Mercury

Rating: PG-13 for some language to come.

Disclaimer: I don't own _Taken_; I'm not profiting from this, and the song "Ghost Train" belongs to Counting Crows.

A/N: Three-quarters of this chapter is mostly everything that happened in Episode 4 ("Acid Tests"), but the end and the rest of the story as well is all me screwing around with what happened and creating a whole new Jesse (as the summary says, it's 'delving deeper'). Sort of. Feedback is appreciated, since I didn't use a beta for this and therefore probably missed a bunch of errors. Enjoy anyway.__

**"Love is a ghost train, rumbling through the darkness…"**

** -"Ghost Train", Counting Crows**

If there was one thing Jesse Keys loved more than anything else, it was logic. He loved the logic in math, and how in the end everything fit together perfectly. He loved knowing how machines did what they did, how each and every piece of the mechanism fit together to form a fully functional device. He loved how all the pieces of a puzzle fell in place once the problem you had been working on had been solved, and how you could look back on it and say to yourself, _yes, that makes sense_.

What frustrated him the most was the lack of logic in what had been happening to him his entire life. Unlike struggling with a math problem, which had been built around the answer itself, what he had done in Vietnam had no reason to it. He couldn't explain how he had been able to survive there, fighting as close as he could to the enemy, so close he could see the whites and pupils of their eyes, filled with the same fear that often was evident in the eyes of his own friends. He couldn't explain how he had been able to avoid all of the land mines planted in that hell - some of them placed only inches away from where he stepped. And he sure as hell could not explain how everyone in his unit had died in an ambush and he had survived - without a single hair on his head damaged, no less.

He had discovered the answer to all of those problems - something to help him forget, even for a little while - some time ago: drugs. And, sitting on the worn sofa in his dealer's apartment, he felt the needle push away from the body of the syringe and puncture his skin. The same unexplainable panic he always experienced when he used drugs rose in his throat briefly and then disappeared, like it always did, as the drugs entered his blood stream. His eyes closed and he let out a small breath of relief, letting the poison that was now running through his veins begin to work.

Chad walked over to him and held out his hand. "Hey. You owe me for this, man."

Jesse half-shrugged, his eyes hidden under closed lids. "You know I don't have it, Chad."

"I'm not kidding. I got to eat, too. Besides, you could do without the stuff."

A small smile crept onto Jesse's face. "You have no idea how much I really need it, man."

Somewhere, distantly, he heard a switch flick, and the sounds of the Who started streaming out of Chad's old radio. "Tough. You're not getting any more until you can pay." He lowered the volume of the radio, ignoring the protest Jesse made by raising his arm slightly as if to say _hey, I like that song_. "Get clean, Jesse. I'm not kidding. Get yourself to a hospital or something and get yourself outta here before you end up dead."

His own voice seemed far-off. "I'm not gonna end up dead, 'cause I've got them watching out for me."

Chad shook his head. "I'm not kidding, Jesse. Go somewhere, find a nice girl, settle down."

Jesse sighed, his eyelids fluttering against his cheek. "All right, if it'll get you off my back for once." He stood up and stumbled a little, reaching for the torn plaid pattern of the sofa's arm to support him. Chad's arms shot out to keep him steady and helped him to the door.

"Don't let me see you again, man."

But Jesse was already gone, a quarter of the way down the street, drunkenly stumbling down the littered streets of the city.

His vision became blurry as he made his way down the alleyways of the city, his feet missing the ground every once in a while. Graffiti decorated the walls of the brick homes lining the streets, covering the antique buildings with obscenities Jesse couldn't make out if he tried.

Finally he reached a building of uninviting bright marble. His experience in the war had helped him to realize that anything this brilliantly white was either a hospital or heaven itself. Up the stairs his feet went as he tried to pace himself. _Easy now_, he thought. _You'll get inside and everything will be all right_. But the words were muddled even inside his head, and he could feel everything becoming hazier. _Maybe I took too much this time._

Slowly he reached the entrance and pushed himself through the swinging doors leading to the hospital ward. _All I really need to do is lie down_.

His eyes focused for a moment on the nurse currently on desk duty. Her eyes locked on his before she tilted her head slightly and said in the same manner one would address a silent child,

"Are you all right?"

Jesse took note of his blindingly white surroundings and thought _must've been heaven after all_ before crashing to the ground and seeing everything fade to black.

The nurse immediately dropped her pen and ran over to the unconscious man lying in the hallway of the hospital.

"Someone get me a doctor!"

The florescent lights illuminating the hospital ward blinded Jesse at first as he slowly opened his eyes, his heart pounding in his head. Memories of the war came flashing back to him as he looked around and saw more bodies in hospital beds surrounding him. Except the hospitals in the war had been housed in makeshift tents the color of olive, not in a perfectly sterile, immaculate environment like this one. His limbs were stiff, and his memories of the night before were vague, beginning with a trip to Chad's apartment and ending with a fade to black in the hallway engulfed in white.

Footsteps jolted him back to the present as a faintly familiar nurse approached him with a cart full of trays. Chestnut eyes peered out from under her white hospital cap, full of concern.

"Are you all right?"

Jesse ran one of his hands over his short buzz-cut and made contact with her lovely, lovely eyes. "I guess so. What happened last night?"

"You came in and fainted dead away in our foyer." Smiled as she brought him the tray of food and displayed it before him. "You nearly OD'd, too. If you had come an hour later, you would've been dead by now."

"Creepy how you can cheat death like that, huh?" He stuck out his hand, which she readily shook. "I'm Jesse Keys."

"Amelia." She paused, hands pressed against the handle of the food cart, waiting to move onto the next bed. "I thought - all your ID's - "

"Jesse's my real name," he said as a grin lit up his face, "maybe later I can explain everything to you."

That comment earned a quick nod from her, as the cart was wheeled to the next bed. Jesse stared down at the metal tray, the dry, bland food arranged systematically, as if the eggs mixing with the potatoes would prove to be catastrophic.

"Hey, Amelia." He called out, gathering many surprised glances from the patients who had never heard her addressed as anything but 'miss' or 'nurse'. Amelia set down a tray on one of her patient's tables, then hurried over to Jesse, a grin plastered on his face.

"What'd you say to getting some real food with me?"

Amelia struggled to suppress a smile herself as she answered. "Why, _Mister_ Keys, I'll check up on you when it's my break and perhaps we can work something out." And, with a glance thrown over her shoulder as she continued her walk down the hallway, "I think that would be an excellent time to talk about a problem with authority you seem to be having here."

Jesse suddenly felt the pressure in his head disappear.

A brown trenchcoat concealed most of Amelia's hospital whites as they strolled through the park, each one holding a steaming hot dog with one hand, their free hands dangling by their sides as they made vague attempts to lock fingers with each other. This was what he had been looking for all along, Jesse realized. Not a drug, but something to just make him happier. To get his mind off of Vietnam and the aliens, to make him feel as if he had someone else looking out for him. Someone to make him feel a little less alone.

They wandered over to a park bench and Jesse sat beside Amelia, watching her observe her surroundings as she chewed the hot dog. His eyes focused on her face, her eyes and her hair, as he silently absorbed every detail of her face, every wrinkle and crease, everything that made her all the more beautiful to him.

Eventually she noticed his eyes fixated on her face, and she turned to him. "What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head. "You're… very pretty."

Bright crimson overcame her cheeks. "Thank you."

He managed to tear his eyes off her and scan the park. Nothing there except for the hot dog stand, of course, a small group of children on the swing set, and another group of children clustered around an old man, his crudely made bubble wand made of a Hula Hoop and Scotch tape enveloping the doe-eyed kids with bubbles. Eventually the bubbles popped and both the old man and the child were sprayed with the soapy residue of the soap and water mixture.__

_Spokes turning, passing by a truck - a brightly colored circus truck covered in dancing clowns. Passing the font now, moving ahead of the driver, an old man. Hand dangling over the side, his eyes focused on Jesse. Legs working to pedal the bike faster without him realizing it, then the lights appearing out of nowhere and -_

And the bubble man turned to Jesse, his face the same as the one Jesse had seen all those years ago. All throughout his life, he would never forget that man and the look in his eyes - something Jesse had tried to put his finger on many times but never succeeded.

He rose from the bench, despite Amelia's questioning glance and call of "Jesse?" He kept walking, though, eventually breaking into a run and plowing right into the old man, knocking him to the ground. _You stole my life from me, you son of a bitch._

The man's face turned to the side as Jesse drove his fist into his cheek again and again. Two arms suddenly grabbed his and pulled him off the bubble man, a narrow line of blood trickling down his face. It wasn't him, Jesse saw. It wasn't the man who had chased him down the road all those years ago. _Shit_.

"Jesse!" Amelia's voice was shrill and fearful. "Jesse!"

He looked at her and stood up. "I'm sorry. I-"

The bubble man stood up and backed away slowly from Jesse, who thrust his hands in the pockets of his coat, turned on his heel and began walking away rapidly. A small group of people had crowded around the injured man.

Amelia's pace doubled as she hurried to catch up with Jesse. "What was that all about, Jesse?" Her stomach turned as she felt the fear one might feel if they were walking with a murderer.

"I thought he was someone else. I'm sorry." He took special care to avoid making eye contact with her, his eyes staring straight ahead.

"Who?"

"Just… someone from when I was a kid." He paused. "It's a long story."

"I have time."

Jesse stopped and faced Amelia. Their eyes locked. "Maybe later." He turned to start walking again, but Amelia stopped him with her hand placed on his shoulder.

"Jesse?"

He turned around as she gazed up at him, brown eyes meeting brown. "Maybe you just need some help."

"I don't need any help."

"Jesse!" She exclaimed as he turned around again. "Jesse, you could've killed that guy if you had kept going." She stopped and swallowed hard. "I want to be with you, but I don't want to have to see you hurt people like that again."

"You've only known me for-"

"That doesn't matter. It's best to try to solve a problem early on."

He looked at her, her eyes begging him silently.__

"All right."

The office of Dr. Elizabeth Goodman resembled an old-fashioned study one might see in a British library, complete with a ceiling-high bookcase stacked with books and assorted medical journals, as well as several leather armchairs resting atop of a plush Oriental rug. Her desk was a glossy cherry wood, and placed in front of it was a leather sofa.

Jesse had been ushered into the office by her secretary, who insisted that Dr. Goodman would be here soon and he could wait inside for a few minutes. It was clear that the secretary was relatively new and unused to being around mentally unstable people - alone, no less.

That thought brought a smile to Jesse's face as he browsed her personal library, most of the selection consisting of studies of the human mind, psychoanalysis and the like.

The door swung open just as Jesse was about to open a slim book on something dealing with suppressed childhood memories. A tall, thin woman entered, a few strands of her blonde hair breaking away from her otherwise securely fastened bun.

"Jesse Keys?" She set down her briefcase and shook Jesse's free hand. He carefully placed the book back where he had found it and walked over to the couch.

"Do I have to lie down?"

Dr. Goodman shrugged. "If you want." She took off her coat and hung it up on the coat rack by the door before sitting down at her desk. "I'm Dr. Goodman, as you probably know, but you can call me Elizabeth, Liz, whatever you want." She waved her arms in a wild gesticulation.

Jesse sat down on the couch, feeling very much like a child paying a visit to the principal's office in this academic atmosphere. He watched Elizabeth shuffle a few more papers around her desk, then focus all of her attention on him, her hands clasped and resting on her desk.

"So?" Jesse began, unsure of what he was to do.

"Well, why don't you start off by telling me why you're here?"

"I… beat up a man in East Park."

Elizabeth nodded and scribbled something on a notepad. "And why did you do that?"

"I thought he was someone I knew. From when I was a kid." Jesse shook his head and sunk backwards into the couch a little more. "I made a mistake. Doesn't mean I have to see a psychologist." He suddenly felt hostile towards Amelia for making him come, for making him talk about things he'd rather have left alone to a complete stranger.

If his hostility had made an impact on Dr. Goodman, it didn't show. Her pen scratched something else on her notepad as she nodded. "And what made you want to hurt this man?" She paused and settled back in her chair, locking her eyes on Jesse. "Did this man in any way… abuse you, perhaps, when you were a child?"

"No, no." Said Jesse. "He…" _He was an alien_, Jesse imagined himself saying. That would certainly make an impact on her, as he would be no longer classified as 'troubled', but instead as 'crazy'. "…Just an old bully from school. Nothing much." He finished, his hands beginning to drum lightly on the shiny, hard surface of the leather couch.

Dr. Goodman looked at him for a minute. "There's not something else?"

Jesse shook his head stubbornly.

"We have a patient-doctor confidentiality policy, you know. Everything that's said in this office stays in this office. You can tell me anything. I'm not your enemy."

His arms shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, Jesse stared at Dr. Goodman before saying, "There's nothing."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Elizabeth jotted down a few more notes, this time placing them in a manila folder. Jesse allowed his eyes to wander around the office, taking in his surroundings.

"Well," began Elizabeth, "If we don't have anything more to talk about, I suggest we end here for today."

"Really?" Jesse asked. _I can go home now?_

"Maybe next week we'll open up a bit more and actually have something to discuss." She grinned as Jesse immediately headed towards the door, desperate to leave.

"All right… bye." His pace quickened as soon as he had left the room, leaving Elizabeth alone, surrounded by files and hastily scribbled notes.

_Who does he think he's fooling? _ Dr. Goodman thought with a smirk. _He's hiding something._

_But what?_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to Spookymulder1 for editing chapter 1 slightly (nothing big) and betaing this chapter. 

Note: This is the chapter where the fic earns its PG-13 rating for language. Just a warning.

Enjoy! Feedback, as always, is appreciated but never demanded.

**Get out while you can**

**Baby I'm pouring quick sand**

**And sinking is all I have planned**

**-Aimee Mann, "Humpty Dumpty"******

Jesse loved to get of bed when it was still dark, so it was impossible to tell whether it was still night or the dawn of a new day. It was refreshing to take in the brisk, cold morning air while running past pitch-black neighborhoods, arriving back home when the first streaks of the sun began to appear on top of the black sky. He loved the feeling of being alone in his own world, where he could just run forever, freeing his mind from his problems and troubles he experienced during the day.

He didn't use his runs as times to actually think about anything, like most people thought he did. Jesse ran because he felt like running, and because it felt good to clear his head and just keep moving forward.

It was a Wednesday morning, the air more chilly than usual, stinging Jesse's throat when he swallowed. Out of breath, he entered the apartment he had been sharing with Amelia for three weeks now. She moved in with him a week after he begun seeing Liz.

Dr. Goodman insisted that they were making 'progress', but Jesse wasn't so sure. They always did the same thing each week - Jesse would sink back into the cushions of the sofa and answer her questions with a 'yes' or 'no' if it was possible (and if it wasn't, the 'yes's or 'no's would be substituted with a brief, unelaborated statement instead). And then she would look at him, her eyebrows raised well above the rims of her tortoise-shell glasses, and scribble something on her notepad.

But now, as he entered the shower, he let his mind turn away from Elizabeth and move onto other matters. He had only been taken once after the incident, about two days after he began seeing Dr. Goodman. After that, he had been left alone, to live in fear, always waiting for the next time when he would be taken.

He turned off the water and dried himself with his towel, pulling on some clean clothes and entering the kitchen. To his surprise, a few rays of sunlight were already beginning to peek through the window in the kitchen, where Amelia was sitting at the table and reading the paper. _I must've run longer than I thought_, he thought to himself, walking over to the sink to pour himself a glass of water.

"Morning." Amelia said, putting down the paper and taking a bite out of her bagel.

"Morning." He responded. "You're up early."

"It's ten to seven, and I have to be in early today."

Jesse filled his glass with water from the sink and turned off the faucet, taking a sip from the tall glass. "Sounds like fun." He said with a smirk.

Amelia sighed and shoved the rest of the bagel into her mouth, washing it down with a gulp of coffee. "Don't forget, you have an appointment with Dr. Goodman today." She said when she finished chewing before picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. Jesse sighed and set the glass on the plastic countertop next to the sink. Amelia turned away from the door and went back over to Jesse, giving him a brief hug.

"It's all for the best," She said. "She's really helping you."

"Yeah, I guess so." Jesse replied reluctantly. Amelia grinned and gave him a kiss on the cheek before walking back out of the door, calling over her shoulder, "See you tonight!"

The door closed with a click that seemed to echo in the empty apartment, and suddenly Jesse felt very much alone.

Elizabeth Goodman tapped the steering wheel of her car impatiently, glancing at her watch every other minute. Being stuck in traffic jams had become a daily routine for her, but at least it gave her time to clear her head and think.

Right now she was thinking about her latest enigma, Jesse Keys. He had remained stubborn and uncooperative, only confirming her beliefs that he had something he didn't want her to know. Something said by a colleague back in college came to mind, about how in the world of safecracking, there were "easy cracks and difficult cracks, but no impossible cracks, and the same applies to people."

Jesse was undoubtedly both her most difficult safe to crack as well as the most intriguing. He was a welcome change from her usual batch of patients - lonely housewives who were experiencing depression, rebellious teenagers sent to her by parents constantly hoping it was 'just a phase', and most recently, war vets who were so shaken by the war that they rarely slept or ate, always coming to her in a constant state of paranoia and fear.

But Jesse was different - affected but not shaken by the war, using disguises and reclusiveness as his means of defense against the world. And the fact that he was hiding something from her (something big, she could tell) made her want to pry even deeper past the surface and discover just what it was.

Gradually the traffic began to dissolve as she made the turn onto the street where her office resided, preparing to console some overweight, chain-smoking stay-at-home mother who had already had at least one box of donuts before coming to her.

Liz pulled into the parking lot and switched off the ignition with a sigh.

Jesse already had three cups of coffee and was starting on his fourth. He had grown restless sometime after noon, which was when he had turned off the television and began to pace in circles around the apartment, draining cups of coffee like a thirsty athlete would drain water after a particularly exhausting game.

He was bored. He didn't feel like watching TV, didn't feel like listening to music, didn't feel like reading. His mind couldn't stay on one subject for too long or he would grow impatient.

The phone rang with clarity so great that it seemed to vibrate in Jesse's ears, shattering the silence in the apartment. His arm nearly knocked over the phone when he tried to pick up the receiver, but he managed to push it back onto the table where it rested and place the receiver next to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Jesse?" Amelia said, frantic.

"Yeah?" He replied.

"Thank God - I left my wallet on the coffee table." Jesse poked his head through the doorway leading from the kitchen to the living room and could clearly see the worn leather wallet resting on the table. "Could you bring it over here please? I would come back to get it myself, but I'm kind of busy - " She broke off her sentence and muttered some words to someone else, something that sounded like _hang on, I'll be there in a second!_

"Yeah, I'll be there." He said, relieved that he actually had something to do now. The caffeine was beginning to wear off, and he was starting to feel a little lightheaded from deprivation of water.

"Thank you so much," came Amelia's voice. "I'm kind of busy - new patient - but I'll be at the desk."

"OK."

"Love you - bye." The line went dead with a little _click_. Jesse placed the receiver back in the cradle before pocketing Amelia's wallet. He quickly drained a glass of water to keep him from dehydrating, then he headed out the door.

The bus ride to the hospital was quicker than Jesse had imagined it was going to be, although he guessed most people were working on Wednesday afternoons. He got off the bus in front of the hospital, remembering vaguely the last time he was here, when he had stumbled up these very same steps, drugs running through his veins very much like he suspected the caffeine was now.

The front of the hospital was bustling, a new patient being wheeled in. He entered and found Amelia standing behind the reception desk, chewing on the end of her pen nervously. Jesse approached her and handed over the wallet, which she quickly placed in her purse.

"Thank you so much," she said, sighing. "This guy's not going to make it."  
"What happened?" Jesse asked, eyeing the group of doctors that had surrounded the bed, a sea of white coats leaning over something hidden from Jesse in the room across the hall.

"Drug overdose," Amelia said grimly.

The machine the patient was hooked up to began to beep more furiously, the beeps slowly merging into one long and continuous, piercing noise. The cluster of doctors eventually began to dissipate, leaving one doctor behind to turn off the machine making the horrible noise and cover the dead man's face with a sheet. He then followed the rest of the doctors, abandoning the quiet room that was bustling with noise not two minutes ago.

Jesse began to walk over to the man, despite Amelia's protests. He was overcome by curiosity, and he gingerly lifted up one of the corners of the sheet and peeled it back.

Chad's face was eerily white under the glow of the fluorescent lights, his eyes closed as if he were peacefully resting. Jesse's stomach did a triple somersault as he thought _that could have been me. Another hour and I would have been the one lying on the table, with Chad staring down at _me_._

_Fate just loves to screw with _you_, Jesse._

Amelia approached Jesse, his stomach still queasy. He half-expected Chad to open his eyes and sit up with a grin saying, "Hey, man, you still owe me." But he lay still on the table, his chest unmoving and his face unnervingly pale.

Amelia laid her hand cautiously on Jesse's shoulder, speaking softly in his ear. "Did you know him?'

Jesse turned his face from the sight of the man on the table and gazed at Amelia, who was looking at Chad. "Sort of."

She gave his shoulder and encouraging squeeze. "I'm sorry." She said, her voice but a half-whisper.

Jesse reached out for the sheet and pulled it back over Chad's face, covering it from his sight. He stared at it a moment longer, then turned and walked out the door of the hospital, his fists curled into balls and jammed in his hoodie's pockets. Amelia watched him go, his back turned to her as he walked quickly down the stairs. She glanced once more at the body underneath the sheet and then returned to the desk.

All Jesse could see in his head was Chad in his apartment, telling him to get clean.

_Get clean, Jesse. Go somewhere, find a nice girl, settle down._

It felt like years since he had seen him last, even though it had only been a matter of weeks. But for some reason Jesse was shaken by his death. Maybe it was the image he kept having of Chad with his arm around Amelia, staring down at Jesse, covered with a white sheet, saying _I told you to get clean. You fucked it up big time, man._

He was halfway down Fourth Street before his brain registered where his feet were taking him. Just down the road was the complex where Elizabeth's office resided. He halted for a minute, wondering why he had instinctively started towards her office, the one place he dreaded going to the most. Glancing at his watch, he started moving again. It was quarter to four, and for some reason, he felt as though she was the only one who would really listen to him. All he needed to do right now was talk.

Elizabeth let her mind drift for a moment before she reprimanded herself and jerked herself back to reality. _Can't let your mind wander_, she thought, before turning her attention back to the large woman on the couch describing to her the various food-related escapades she had ventured on during the previous week. To be quite honest, though, she had lost interest somewhere around Friday's donut binge, and she was secretly counting down the minutes until Jesse arrived. _14 minutes and counting. . . _

The time crawled by until eventually the egg timer on Elizabeth's desk made a small _ding!_ Mrs. McClearny was quickly ushered out of her office, followed into the living room by Dr. Goodman herself. 

"See you next week!" She called, her voice filled with mock cheerfulness. Turning around, she was surprised to see Jesse Keys sitting in a chair in the corner of the waiting room, unconsciously flipping through an outdated, torn copy of _Newsweek_. Upon seeing her, he rose. Liz beckoned him into her office and followed him in there.

"You seem eager today." Said Elizabeth as she got settled behind her desk. Jesse sunk into the couch, suddenly wondering why he had come. He blamed it on the caffeine, its effects having worn off at least fifteen minutes ago, for instinctively pointing him in this direction. Sure, he needed someone to talk to, but Liz? In Jesse's opinion, having a PhD didn't make you any more certified to talk to people than having a whisk made you a five-star chef. He simply shrugged.

"So… how've you been doing?" The notepad flipped open to a new page, her pen poised over it expectantly.

"Fine, I guess." He let his eyes wander around the office, feeling inexplicably trapped in the study. Feeling the frustration he always felt when unwillingly paying a visit to Dr. Goodman, he bit his lip in an attempt to quell the urge to somehow express his anger.

"You look a little pale."

"I'm fine."

_Tough cracks and easy cracks, but no impossible cracks._ "Are you sure?"

"Yes." His voice took on a hostile tone.

"Have you been under any stress late - "

His anger and frustration grew too great and rose up out of him before he could stop it. "I said I'm fine. Isn't that good enough for you?"

"Jesse - "

"All right. I'll say what you want me to say." He stood up abruptly, standing in front of her gesturing wildly. "No, I'm _not_ all right. I just stood in a hospital and watched my friend die right I front of my fucking eyes. I'm being forced to go see a psychiatrist, so I can talk to a complete stranger about my life."

Dr. Goodman sat silently, watching Jesse as he continued on his tangent, now pacing in front of the couch, his eyes filled with rage and his voice laced with venom.

"I'm just _tired_ of all this shit. I'm tired of wasting my life just waiting to be taken. Man, I'm tired of being taken." He barked a short, humorless laugh. "And don't say you know how I feel, because you fucking don't. No one does." 

"If you would just sit down, Jesse, we - "

"We could what? Sit here and ask pointless questions for an hour? So I can give you my money and you can go spend it on something nice for yourself?"

Elizabeth sat still, speechless.

"Or maybe I could just talk to you about my life and everything I'm going through, and you can pretend you know me. But what the hell is that going to change?"

He stood there for a moment, silent, before falling back onto the couch and burying his head in his hands, exhausted.

Behind the polished wooden desk Elizabeth still sat, quietly staring at him. The pen and notepad lay off to one side as she patiently waited for the storm to calm, creating a long and awkward silence.

"Jesse?" She asked quietly.

Jesse raised his head up from his hands and grinned at her. "Guess this classifies me as crazy once and for all, huh?"

"I don't think you're crazy." Elizabeth said with such force that Jesse was inclined to believe her. "What was it you said… about being 'taken'?"

He opened his mouth and then shut it just as quickly. _Remember what happened last time you told someone? They locked you up and killed your old man._ "It's nothing."

"Jesse," began Elizabeth, placing the pen and notepad in the top drawer of her desk and folding her arms on the top, "anything that's said here stays here. You know that, right?"

He nodded, cautious. _She's a psychiatrist. She's not going to go to the government._ "It's just… I haven't told anyone for a while." He swallowed. "And it may take a while."

"I don't have any other appointments this afternoon."

Jesse Keys ran his hand through his hair and leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his chin on them, placing his elbows on his slightly spread apart legs. Gradually he sat up and looked Elizabeth in the eye. And then he began to speak.

"My father, Russell Keys, was in World War II…"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: And here is Chapter 3, brought to you during the wonderful week of Hanukkah. I say wonderful because a certain fanfiction writer now has a very shiny blue box that contains 6 very lovely DVDs . . . yeah, I got "Taken". Anyway, thanks a ton to SpookyMulder1 for betaing this. Enjoy.

**Spend my nights in self-****defense**

**Crying about my innocence**

**But I ain't all that innocent anymore**

**-"I'm Not Sleeping", Counting Crows******

By the time Jesse finished his story, an hour and a half had passed. That surprised him; he didn't expect it to take that long. But after he began talking, the words just kept flowing, like they had been locked up behind a dam in himself, and that dam that cracked, releasing the flood of words. For a few moments doctor and patient sat in silence, Elizabeth trying to fully understand everything that had been said to her.

Jesse broke the silence. "You don't believe me, do you?" He asked, quietly.

"I . . . " Elizabeth, at a loss for words, trailed off. "It's just . . . this is a little hard to swallow right away, that's all." Noticing the skeptical look on Jesse's face, she quickly added: "Well, put yourself in my place."

He nodded. "I can see what you mean." His eyes wandered to the clock. "I'd better get going. Amelia'll be worried." Halfway between the couch and the door, he stopped abruptly and turned around. "Thank you." He said awkwardly, continuing on his path out the door.

Elizabeth sat at her desk, silently. The logical section of her brain was screaming at her to give up and recognize the fact that Jesse Keys was crazy, that aliens were nothing but figments of the imagination of lonely, mentally unstable people, and that she would be helping Jesse by sending him to another, better qualified doctor.

But another part of her, the tiny piece of herself that contained hope and spontaneity, continued to nag her. She knew that Jesse was a logical man himself, and it seemed unreasonable for him to create something this elaborate and well thought out in his head. Everything he had said that involved the abnormal was supported with details that only disproved her doubts. Finally her gut instinct kicked in, a small, annoying voice in the very back of her head, telling her that Jesse was telling the truth. She had been reading people for so long - after all, it had been her job for seven years now - that she could tell what people were like based on instinct. And she had grown to trust that instinct after all that time.

She finally stood and pulled on her coat, heading out of the office. Her receptionist had already gone home, she noted with a smirk. Carefully she stepped outside and locked the door, feeling a slight early summer breeze brush against her face. The walk to the car was brief, and as she began to drive home, she felt an odd mix of pride along with a sickening sensation deep in the pit of her stomach, warning her that she had gotten involved in something much bigger than she had bargained for.

"Amelia?" Jesse called as he entered the apartment. "Sorry I'm late."

Amelia came out of the kitchen, breathing a sigh of relief. "Jesus," she muttered. "I had no idea where you were. If something had happened - "

"I'm fine." He interrupted. "I just ended up staying later then I had expected with Liz." Shaking his head, he continued: "It's actually kind of nice to have someone to talk to."

"You can talk to me, too." Said Amelia, her voice containing an edge of something that Jesse didn't recognize at first, but then classified as hurt. He shook his head, flustered.

"I didn't mean it like that - "

"I know," she said, sighing. "It was just a long day at work, that's all. After that patient" Jesse stiffened as he remembered Chad for the first time since earlier that afternoon, "everything was generally hellish." She had been a nurse for a few years now, but no amount of experience could ever get her used to seeing people die before her eyes.

He didn't respond, moving into the kitchen. Amelia followed him, concerned. "How'd you know him?" She asked softly.

"He was my drug dealer. The night we met he kicked me out of his place and told me to get clean." He didn't tell her what else he had said and how sad he sounded when he said it, as if he was sacrificing himself so Jesse could get clean and live a normal life. He's probably happier now, though, Jesse thought. He didn't have anything left to live for anyway. That's what he tried to explain to me that night, that I had the ability to make something of my life.

Amelia took out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. "I'll make you something," she said, not wanting to touch upon an obviously sensitive subject that she had no way of dealing with. Jesse sat down and watched her spread the peanut butter on the bread, thinking of one of the last things Chad had said to him.

Find a nice girl and settle down.

"Amelia?" Jesse asked.

"Mm-hmm?" She murmured without looking back over her shoulder, continuing to make the sandwich.

He sat back in the chair and looked at her, watching her as she quietly placed the slices of bread together and headed towards the refrigerator to get the bottle of milk. "Will you marry me?"

The milk bottle slipped right through Amelia's hands and landed on the floor, exploding in hundreds of miniscule fragments of glass. Hardly noticing it, she let her gaze go back to Jesse. "What?"

Jesse realized that this was what Chad had been talking about. Except Amelia was much more than a 'nice girl' - she had stayed with him despite his stubbornness and his unwillingness to cooperate with her and Liz. He knew that if he let Amelia leave, he would never be able to forgive himself for letting another opportunity at a better life slip through his fingers yet again. His gaze remained steady as he said, "I love you, Amelia. I don't know if I could ever let myself live knowing that I could have had you and didn't. Please." He watched her bring her hand to her mouth, tears beginning to well up inside of her. "Please marry me."

Short of breath, she gave a small, strangled sob mixed with a nervous giggle. "I've only known you for a month, Jesse. I - "

Jesse stood up and walked over to Amelia, walking right over the shards of glass and crushing them beneath his soles. "Please." He said once more.

Amelia laughed again disbelievingly, a laugh that was nearly masked by the sob that came with it. She nodded just as the tears came, standing in the midst of broken glass, sobbing and laughing and nodding all at once.

And with that Jesse enveloped her in a hug, the sounds of her sobbing muffled by his shirt.

That night, Jesse and Amelia lay side by side in their bed. Amelia turned on her side to face Jesse, who was staring at the ceiling.

"Do you want kids?" She asked quietly.

He smiled. "Yeah."

She shifted back to her original position, staring momentarily at the ceiling before turning her head to face Jesse. "A boy or a girl?" 

"I don't mind." He said, shrugging. "Although I do think having a Gunther would be rather nice."

Amelia laughed. "Gunther Keys?" She asked, staring at him disbelievingly. "You wouldn't name our child that, right?"

Jesse turned his head to face her, his expression completely solemn. "I'm serious, Amelia." He paused. "Gunther's a fine name. In fact, I can only think of a few names that are better than it."

Sensing that mischievous tone in his voice, Amelia asked, as if she were a student addressing a respected professor in a mocking voice, "And, pray tell, what would those names be? Surely none of them could rival 'Gunther' in terms of sheer brilliance."

Jesse replied: "Well, I am quite partial to Montego. And an Erno Keys would be a delightful addition to our family."

Amelia's eyes were filled with tears from her hysterical laughter. "And," she said when she managed to catch her breath, "What do you suppose we would call a daughter?"

"Some favorites of mine include Lola - " he paused to catch his own breath, Amelia's infectious giggle spreading to him, "and Xantara." Amelia's questioning glance, accompanied by more laughter, prompted his explanation: "You know, it means 'Protector of the Earth'. Something our child will undoubtedly aspire to be."

For the next few minutes they lay there, laughing, until they got control of themselves again and reduced their laughter to an occasional giggle.

"You were looking through a baby names book?" Asked Amelia, when the giggles had subsided and all that was left was a grin on her face.

"A few days ago." Jesse admitted.

"Well," said Amelia, "I think that when we have a child, perhaps we can name it something less . . . interesting."

"Agreed." Jesse replied. They muttered each other their goodnights as Amelia rolled over to her side and immediately fell into a peaceful rest, her chest moving up and down evenly. Jesse, however, lay flat on his back and stared up at the ceiling, still, occasionally glancing over to Amelia. He felt less alone than he ever had before in his life, finally knowing that someone was going to stay with him forever and love him the same way he loved them.

He closed his eyes, only to have them pried open by a blinding light seconds later. At first there was nothing but the light, so bright that he could not escape it, whether or not his eyes were closed. And then he was able to turn his head and see the familiar gray forms, their bodies standing in front of the light.

His mouth opened to let out a yell, and then he did indeed yell. But, as always, it seemed to do nothing to stop them from their activities. Finally the light began to fade into darkness, and he awoke, the clock reading three-forty-three AM. Jesse lay entangled in his bed sheets, gasping and panting, before he finally slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep. 

"Is this why you asked?" Jesse asked, watching Amelia carefully, as her finger rounded the rim of her water glass.

"Yeah." She swallowed. "I didn't know for sure until I went to the doctor's today . . ." She trailed off, staring at the table silently, before looking up. "Did you really mean it when you said you wanted a child?"

Jesse nodded. "Of course."

Amelia smiled, tears springing to her eyes. Bringing a handkerchief to her eyes and gently dabbing at them, she regained her composure and looked at Jesse, who was sitting perfectly still, emotionless. He watched her putdown the handkerchief and then said, "It's just a lot to take in right now."

She laughed. "I know."

The silence provided an opportunity for their ears to recognize the music coming from their kitchen's transistor radio. Jesse stood and turned up the volume. "Dance with me?"

Amelia looked up from the water glass her finger had returned to circling yet again. "What?"

Jesse walked over to her chair. "Just dance with me." 

Two pairs of feet moved together on the worn floor, the dancers moving along to, but not listening to the music. Amelia's head lay on his shoulder, and he could feel the warmth of her tears creeping through his shirt silently.

They danced for a while, until Jesse stopped feeling the tears on his shirt.

Jesse sat in the wooden chair of the office, twisting his gold wedding band uncomfortably. The receptionist was blatantly ignoring him, busying herself with a nail file, and Jesse had eventually resorted to slapping his palms on his thighs to keep himself occupied. Occasionally the woman behind the desk looked up from her nails to shoot a glance full of dislike at him.

Finally the door opened and a man stepped out. "Jesse Keys?" He asked, extending his arm.

Jesse shook his hand. "That's me."

The man gestured for him to enter his office. "Right in here."

The door closed, and the man bustled about the cramped office in search of a glass. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No thanks."

"Ah. Well, then," said the man, sitting down and folding his hands on the desk in front of Jesse. "You're interested in volunteering?"

Jesse nodded and the man reached inside his desk, pulling out a thin packet seconds later. "You'll - ah - have to fill this out. Nothing much, just your name, date of birth, stuff like that." He pushed the form towards Jesse. "Need a pen?"

Accepting the pen, Jesse began to fill out the form as the man continued to speak. "Do you have any medical experience?"

"No," said Jesse, meeting the man's questioning gaze with his steadfast one, "but my wife is a nurse. She'll be able to teach me some things."

Satisfied, the man took Jesse's completed forms. "Thank you for volunteering to help the Chicago Red Cross." 

Three Months Later . . . 

Amelia had wanted to move after they got married, but Jesse was comfortable in a big city like Chicago, where he could move about freely and still remain anonymous at the same time. So they had agreed on moving to a house in a small suburb about fifteen minutes away, satisfying the wishes of both Jesse and Amelia.

He was tying his shoes after receiving the call a couple minutes earlier about a fire at an apartment building in the city. Jesse stood, watching Amelia sleep, her stomach beginning to show the earliest signs of pregnancy. Quietly he crept out of the house.

When he reached the building, he realized the fire was worse than he had imagined. The apartment was a blazing, furious red and orange, its smoke billowing into the early morning sky.

"How did this happen?" Jesse yelled over the roar of the fire.

"I don't know," said one of his partners, Malcolm. "But it's a big fucking fire, man. I don't think anyone who was in there could survive."

Jesse pulled on his mask and headed towards the door, despite the calls of his partners trying futilely to put out the raging fire. He stepped through the door and the heat Intensified, like he was walking through hell itself. But he knew he couldn't get hurt here.

The blazing inferno brought back memories of Vietnam. It brought back the feeling of helpless claustrophobia, of being trapped in a swarm of men and a hail of gunfire. The heat was just as bad there as it was in the apartment, all of Nam seeming to be a sweltering mass of sweat and blood and pure unadulterated heat.

He remembered the helpless feeling of being caught up in that whirlwind of gunfire being rained upon the enemy. Everything was bright and noisy, and along with the smell of something burning (probably one of his comrades) it made Jesse feel like crawling into a hole and dying.

And then they had wandered into that trap later, and that was when Jesse thought (with a certain feeling of relief) that that was probably the end. But he had escaped, escaped alone, and watched his friends and his comrades die while he sat by a nearby river, tears mingling with the dirt and the sweat streaking his face.

Because they wouldn't let him die. 

A crash brought Jesse back to reality, to the apartment, and he silently reminded himself that this wasn't Nam; he had a job to do. He walked cautiously through the remains of the first floor lobby, pausing at where the front desk would have been.

Alarmed by the sound of a curious rumbling, he looked up.

The ceiling was collapsing.

"He'll be fine, Mrs. Keys. I can't explain how he managed to survive that, but I can tell you that he will."

Gradually he opened his eyes, and he could begin to see faint outlines of people, placing faces with their voices. Amelia noticed that he was awake and dropped the tissue she had been using, running to his bed.

"My God," she said, tears threatening to come out, "I can't tell you how worried I was."

He blinked, letting her face come into focus. "What happened?" Everything was a blur, and all he could remember was standing outside of an apartment building, Malcolm saying something to him.

"You went into that building and the ceiling fell. They found you later, when they finally put the fire out."

Suddenly he remembered it, standing in the building, everything ablaze around him, wherever he looked. "Was there anyone else in there before me?"

Amelia looked puzzled. "No, you were the only one that went in."

"Not like that. Were there any tenants in there? Civilians?"

"I don't know," she replied truthfully. She was worried about him, about whether this was the right job for him to be pursuing. If he was hurt or killed - the thought of losing him and having to raise their child alone sent a chill down her spine. But affection suddenly overcame her at that moment, a love for the always-selfless Jesse. He was hospitalized, clueless as to his condition, and yet he was inquiring about other people, people he had never even met before.

He sighed and closed his eyes, and she watched him as he slept again, realizing the true fragility of human life and just how easy it was to lose someone, as his chest rose and fell systematically.

Within a week Jesse was released, perfectly (and unexplainably) fine. Doctors marveled at his condition after surviving something like that. Jesse, as a result of Amelia's prodding, took a couple of weeks off from volunteering to "recuperate". He started running in the morning again and became more active to fill up the hours of spare time he had.

He would also take care of the house, occasionally cleaning, but mostly mowing the lawn as he was today.

The blades of the lawn mower spun around, separating the tips of the grass from their ends. Jesse pushed the machine back and forth in a neat line across the yard, watching the lawn quickly begin to resemble a paragon of the "suburban dream".

Jesse's neighbor peered over from the other side of the fence, as he watched Jesse mow his lawn for the second time that week.

"Hey, Jesse," called Alan from next door, "How you been lately? Doing anything exciting, or do you mow all the time?"

Jesse smiled to himself and continued to mow the lawn, calling over the roar of the mower, "I've been cutting the grass and watching it grow." And then to himself, more quietly, "Cutting the grass and watching it grow."

Alan furrowed his brow. He yelled out in a jokingly good-natured way, "That's the second time this week, Keys. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Life," said Jesse, turning the lawn mower to cover the other side of the lawn, "is ninety percent maintenance."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the delay in this chapter, but I'm also working on two other WiPs now and that combined with schoolwork has not given me a ton of time to work on this. Its unbeta'd because my email is screwed up, so I couldn't send it to SpookyMulder1 (sorry!), so constructive criticism is especially welcome in this chapter. Enjoy.

**Guardian angels who left me stranded **

**It was worth it, feeling abandoned **

**Makes one hardened . . . **

**- Rufus Wainwright, "Go or Go Ahead".**

Elizabeth studied people; it was her nature to try and analyze them even after her first impressions of them. Because of that she considered herself quite a hypocrite, angered at the world for judging her, but at the same time judging them herself.

Generally people, upon discovering she was a psychiatrist, classified Liz as a super-intelligent neat freak who spent her free time reading medical journals and was patient and understanding with all of her patients.

As she walked into her apartment, the floor littered with the trashy romance novels she considered her guilty pleasure, she grinned, imagining their reactions upon seeing her living quarters. Her last boyfriend, Nick, had been astonished upon seeing her messiness and her impatience, startled by her inability to maintain interest in a scientific journal for more than a few minutes.

She threw down her bag and shook her hair out of her tightly made bun; kicking off the pointy, uncomfortable shoes she hated wearing. Walking to the kitchen, she couldn't help but notice that something was missing. Some part of the apartment was gone.

Then it hit her that more than one thing was gone. She checked the bathroom, the kitchen, the bedroom. Jason was gone.

Strangely enough, she didn't feel any grief. All she felt was a curious sensation of loss, like one feels when they have lost something of minor value, something enjoyed but expendable. At first there had been love, which eventually progressed to a mutual respect. And now he had left.

Sighing inwardly, she set the water to boil and brought out some teabags.

He had memorized every detail of the hallway by now. After all, he had paced it enough times to know every crack in the floor's tiles, every chip in the paint on the wall. He had been there for hours, listening to the shaky metal of cart's wheels on the tiles and the soft _thumps_ the shoes of doctors and nurses made as they rushed from room to room.

Many times the door he was waiting outside of opened and out came frazzled looking doctors and nurses, always bearing the same message: They didn't know how long it was going to take, but she was going to be fine.

Finally the door opened and out came a doctor, peeling off his gloves. But this time he kept the door open, inviting Jesse in. He was anxious to enter and did so, shaking the hand of the doctor quickly before rushing in.

Amelia was sitting up quietly, her face and hair soaked in sweat. She was holding the baby in her arms, gazing at it silently.

"It's a boy." She said, looking up at Jesse. Brushing aside a wisp of her child's hair she met Jesse's eyes. "What are we going to name him?"

Jesse didn't answer, peering down at his son in Amelia's arms. "Anything but Gunther, I guess." He said, recalling their conversation from a couple of months ago.

She grinned and lifted the baby to her husband. Jesse gently accepted him, ignoring the cries he was emitting.

"I like Charlie." Amelia said softly. "I found it in the baby names book a couple of weeks back." She paused and admired the way Jesse was holding their son with such care, such love. This gentle man couldn't have been the same person who had tackled an innocent man on their first date, the person who had fought and killed so many in the Vietnam War only a few years ago.

He looked at her and smiled, handing the blanketed infant to Amelia. "Charlie's nice." Was all he said, and he smiled.

"Congratulations." Elizabeth said as she welcomed Jesse into her office later that week. To Jesse it was like going home again, entering a place where every detail was etched into his mind. It still smelled the same - cozy but sterile, like most doctors were. Warm and inviting enough to provoke response and friendliness in return, but cold and reserved enough to maintain a professional aura.

He brushed his fingers against the spines of some of her books before making his way back to the couch. It was still the same leather sofa he had sat on for months before his accident, when Amelia agreed it would be best if he took some time off from therapy along with his job. He had been getting better in her eyes, ridding himself of his eccentric behavior and becoming more open with her.

"Just like you remember it?" She asked.

"Yeah." He grinned. "Feels like it's only been a week since I was here last."

She sat behind her desk, in the same position she always arranged herself in. Sitting up straight, legs crossed underneath the desk, her hands folded under her chin. "Did you come to resume therapy with me, Jesse?"

"Ah, no." He sat down on the couch. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something."

One eyebrow raised itself over the rims of her glasses. "Ask me something as a patient would ask a doctor?" She inquired.

"Ask you something as one friend to another." He replied. "You were the only person that we - that I - really know well here, and you really helped me out when I first came to see you. Amelia and I wanted to know - " He paused to swallow - "We wanted to know if you wanted to be Charlie's godmother."

She smiled. "Of course." She paused before adding, "I'd love to."

The silence that followed suddenly brought to mind a session from when they had first began. She removed her glasses, folding them neatly and placing them on the desk in front of her. "Jesse, have you been having problems with - " Elizabeth trailed off. "I don't know how to put this. Have you been 'taken' again?"

The grin slowly faded from Jesse's face, and he shifted uncomfortably. "It's been happening less and less. I just don't want them to start taking Charlie now." His last sentence trailed off as he grew more somber, shifting his gaze to focus on anything but Liz.

"I just wanted to know if you were okay." She said concernedly.

He met her eyes again. "I am. I'm really happy now."

Liz nodded. "I'm glad for you, Jesse." She said softly.

The blonde man was of medium height and, on second glance, wasn't terribly bad looking. Heather, Dr. Goodman's receptionist, allowed her eyes to wander every so often to the patient waiting patiently in the waiting area. He didn't have an appointment, but Dr. Goodman was free for the rest of the afternoon.

The door to her office opened and the current patient walked out. The blonde man's eyes followed him out the door, as if he was going to suddenly throw aside his worn copy of _Sports Illustrated_ and tackle the poor man.

"Can I help you?" Elizabeth asked the waiting man. He immediately jerked his eyes back to her.

"Ah, yes." He replied. "My name is Eric Crawford, from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. May we have a word?"

Heather's heart sunk. She had dated feds before and they were all the same - pompous, self-righteous pricks that thought flashing their badge could get them out of any mess. Nevertheless, she still permitted her eyes to follow Mr. Crawford as he entered the office.

"Make yourself at home." Elizabeth said, moving a thick packet of files from her desk to a file cabinet next to her bookcase. "Does this visit have anything to do with any complaints from my patient Mr. - "

Interrupting with a wave of his hand, Eric interrupted, "Actually, it is about one of your patients." He paced the floor of her office, admiring a painting on the wall. "But it's not a complaint."

Elizabeth was good at reading people; it was her job. And she knew that this man was trouble, someone she couldn't trust. Something about the suave way he walked, his rigid posture, his smooth tone alarmed her. And so her voice contained a hint of venom when she asked, "Then what do you want?"

He turned to face her, taken aback by her sudden comment. "One of your patients, Jesse Keys. I need to know some information about him."

"What kind of information?" Elizabeth asked suspiciously.

"Address, things like that. We've been tracking him down for a long time, Ms. Goodman." He answered.

Sharply, she corrected him. "It's Doctor Goodman." Ignoring his apologies, she continued: "If you've been able to track him to me and discover that he was one of my patients, then I'm sure you already know his address and 'things like that'."

"There's no need to be hostile. We need this for a project of ours and - "

"I'm not being hostile." Elizabeth said angrily. "There is a strict doctor-patient confidentiality policy that we enforce here very strongly."

The blonde man approached Elizabeth until they were only inches apart. "I don't think you understand the importance of this information, Dr. Goodman." He said. "The FBI is requesting that you cooperate with us in this situation."

Elizabeth quickly turned and headed towards the other side of the room to add another file to the cabinet. "I don't care _who_ wants this information. I don't give out any kind of information about my patients to anyone. And I'd like you to leave now."

"You'll be hearing from us soon, Dr. Goodman." Eric said in a threatening tone before leaving.

As soon as she was sure he was gone she rushed to the phone and dialed Jesse's number.

"Will you get that, Jesse?" Called Amelia, who was resting on the couch with a glass of iced tea in one hand and a book in the other when she heard the phone ring.

"Sure." He said, picking up the phone, the ringing ending abruptly. "Hello?"

"Jesse? This is Liz." She sounded alarmed, and Jesse was immediately concerned. "Listen, I need you to do something for me."

He moved further into the kitchen, as far from Amelia as the phone cord would allow him to journey. "What is it?"

"I just had a visitor. Eric Crawford." Jesse felt something register in the back of his mind, telling him he knew that name from somewhere. Liz continued, interrupting his train of thought. "He wanted to know all this stuff about you. I kicked him out, but I'm worried you and Amelia and Charlie."

"OK." He paused, wiping his brow. "So what do you want me to do?"

"Disappear for a while." She answered. "Go to a motel, if only for a few nights. Just make it so that that man can't find you." Then, after a brief hesitation, she added: "Good luck."

"Thanks." He hung up quickly and went into Charlie's room, carefully picking up the sleeping baby.

"What are you doing?" Amelia asked, standing at the doorway of Charlie's room.

"We have to go away for a while." Jesse said, grabbing a bag from the closet and stuffing several outfits into it. "Just for a little while." He muttered under his breath.

Amelia reached out an arm to stop him. "What do you mean?"

"There are some people looking for me." Jesse said, pausing to look at Amelia. "And I don't want them to get to you or Charlie. I don't want them to hurt you."

"Are you all right?" She asked warily. Perhaps the fall in the building had had some effect on Jesse's brain, even if it was almost a year ago, and the idea of that alone scared her. "I think you just need to calm down and - "

"Please." He said. "Dr. Goodman called me to tell me this. It's her idea. I just need to get you to a motel or something for a few nights. Somewhere you can be safe. But not to any family members, they'll track you down." He was going through drawers in other rooms now, frantically filling bags with toiletries and clothes.

"Jesse - " She said weakly, and reached a hand out to stop him again. "Who are 'they'?"

Jesse stopped in his tracks. "Just . . . just do this. Please. I can explain this all later, someday. I promise."

"Okay." She whispered. "All right, Jesse."

He dropped them off at the motel, speeding off as Amelia stood outside of the dimly lighted motel holding Charlie. Guilt consumed him as he realized he should be there to protect them, but something told him that they would be safer if he were farther away from them.

His car was heading down a lonely, dark highway now. He had no idea where it would lead to. All he wanted was someplace to sit quietly in the dark and try to make sense of this. Then he would call Liz.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Nothing to say here except for this: for the best Taken fanfiction on the internet, as well as Taken message boards, visit www. angel-allison. com

**"It gave him a strange feeling to see the wrist and leg sliced open, the chest exposed - but no bleeding. There was something wild and inhuman about that. As if bleeding were a sign of humanity. Well, he thought, perhaps it is. Perhaps the fact that we bleed to death makes us human."**

** -"The Andromeda Strain", Michael Crichton**

"Do you mind telling me exactly what's going on?" He demanded, twisting the stiff, cold metal cord of the pay phone around his fingers nervously. It was sometime early in the morning, his view of the clock obscured by a cloud of smoke from a group of men closer to the bar's entrance. He had pulled in only one or two minutes ago, making a beeline for the phone in the back, ignoring the bartender's insistence that he buy a drink.

Jesse had to place one finger firmly in his right ear to block the solid _thwacking _sounds the pool balls made when they hit the sides of the table to hear Elizabeth's answer. "Jesse," Her voice crackled amidst the static, "Relax. I promise I'll be there as soon as I can, then we can talk things over." A glass shattered suddenly in the background, prompting her to ask, "Where _are_ you?"

He gave her the name of the place and hung up, making his way into the bathroom next to the phone. He turned on the faucet and ran his hands under the water, resting his elbows on the sides of the sink. Eventually he lifted his head and stared at himself in the mirror for a minute, staring himself in the eye long and hard.

Breaking his gaze and shutting off the water, he returned to the front of the building, sitting down in the booth in the far corner of the room. His energy was beginning to subside now, his eyes starting to droop. Just as he was about to succumb to the temptation of sleep he heard the jingling of a bell somewhere, distantly, and looked up to see Dr. Goodman walking towards him.

"Of all the places you could've chosen." She said, looking around in a bemused manner before sliding into the bench across from Jesse.

"I, uh, tried to pick somewhere out of the way." He replied sheepishly, noting the change in Elizabeth upon leaving the office. She seemed more relaxed here, even calling for a beer from the bartender. Picking up the bottle the portly man placed before her, she took a sip, prompting Jesse to blurt out in disbelief, "You _drink_?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Just because I'm a doctor doesn't mean I don't know how to have a good time." Her grin disappeared as she remembered the reason she was there and her mood turned somber. "A man named Eric Crawford was asking about you."

At first the name had no effect on Jesse, but then, suddenly, something triggered a memory of that day back when he was sixteen, when he had gone to the government looking for help and they had killed his father, locking him in that bomb shelter. The man's name was Crawford. Owen Crawford. Enough time had passed - if he had had a son . . .

"Jesse?" She asked, leaning over the table. "Crawford was that man who was in charge of the UFO project, wasn't he?" He remembered telling her, on their second session, everything that had happened with the aliens and the government.

He nodded. "Yeah."

Taking another sip of her beer, Liz said, "He didn't look sure of himself, like he knew what he was getting into but didn't want to take the risk." Reaching an arm across the sticky, ring-covered tabletop, she patted Jesse's arm comfortingly. "I'm sure you'll be fine if you went home in a day or two."

"Thanks." He replied gratefully. "But these Crawfords . . . they've ruined my life before. They're going to win again this time, I know that." They sat in silence for a few moments longer, Elizabeth taking in her surroundings, Jesse tapping the table aimlessly. Then she sighed, picking up her purse and standing.

"Jesse," she began, "You don't know how lucky you are to have Amelia and Charlie and all those other people who love you. People like this Eric Crawford are the kind of people who like to take away those people from us, to take away everything that matters to us. They try to destroy our reason to be by taking away life's meaning, because what life means to you is measured by how much you can love someone."

She sat down again, this time on the edge of the bench rather than next to the wall. Her voice took became shakier as she continued, "For some reason, when people take away our meaning we grieve, but we keep fighting and keep loving. Why we do that" she shook her head sadly "we'll never know, but that urge to keep going is what keeps us alive. And if you give in and lose that urge, then the Crawfords _have_ won. If you see it as a contest, that is."

He followed her with his eyes as she stood again, this time slinging the purse over her shoulder. "Take care, Jesse." 

"I'll, uh, call you in a few days about the baptism." Jesse said after a moment of silence, remembering she was to be Charlie's godmother. Her face twisted into an expression of pain for a moment before changing back into her original expressionless, smooth countenance.

"OK." Elizabeth said somewhat sadly before disappearing into the dense cloud of smoke obscuring the front of the bar. Eventually the outline of her body faded and he was left staring at nothing but the last fading tendrils of smoke.

He spent the next two nights at the motel with Amelia and Charlie, not daring to go back to work yet. Amelia was concerned, fearing for the safety of Charlie as well as herself. When she had asked what was going on he had simply told her it was "complicated" and he would explain everything "someday". For the first few hours she had briefly entertained the thought of leaving him, but the thought of life without Jesse was unbearable to her after all the time they had spent together.

When they returned to the house, she was thankful to see Jesse resume working, glad he was getting his mind off of things, even it were only for a few hours during the day. Charlie was her priority now, spending her days changing and feeding him. Jesse was overjoyed upon being a father, and she would often stop by Charlie's room to find him cradling him in his arms, walking around the room in circles and talking softly to him.

She was feeding Charlie when Jesse exited the house in a hurry, stopping to kiss her quickly, murmuring something about a car accident he had to be at. Amelia admired his optimistic attitude towards his job, how he saw the ability to help in an otherwise helpless situation. How someone so paranoid could be so optimistic at the same time was a mystery to her.

Jesse waved as he pulled out of the driveway, watching Amelia through the kitchen window, gently feeding Charlie. There had a car accident on Miller Street, and, as he saw as he pulled up to the scene of the accident, he it was big. A mangled red Chevrolet was lying on its side against a tree, a group of attendants trying to turn it over carefully and place it on the ground. _The car must have flipped and hit the tree_, he realized. _Not much of a chance of survival if you were the driver there._

As he approached it he saw another car nearby, it's front smashed badly. The driver was leaning against it, handcuffed, as one of the cops holding him came up to Jesse. "Drunk driver." He said. "He was going the wrong way on a one-way street."

Nodding, Jesse approached the now upside-down car, lying on the ground next to the tree. He lay down next to where the windshield was now nothing but a black frame, the ground around it littered with broken shards of glass, and peered into the car. "Hello?" He called.

The body appeared to be a woman, judging by their long blond hair, and he called for a gurney as he confirmed his suspicion that she wasn't alive. Gently he opened the car door and crawled into the overturned vehicle, firmly pulling the woman out of the car and laying her on the ground.

A pair of brown eyes gazed blankly towards the sky, and Jesse instantly backed into a standing position, startled. It was Dr. Goodman, dressed ready for work, looking placid and unusually still. Whenever Jesse saw her, she was always writing on her notepad, gesturing with her hands, drumming her fingers on the desk. But she was never lying still like this.

The paramedic brushed past Jesse, standing a few feet away from her, shocked. "Yup." He said, motioning for the gurney. "Hey, man, you all right?" The man asked, looking at Jesse, then at Elizabeth. "You know her?"

"No." Jesse replied reflexively.

The paramedic nodded. "You wanna give me a hand?"

"No." He repeated, backing away. His feet carried him to his car, where he found himself driving towards the bar they had talked at only a few nights ago. When he realized he was only a mile away from the bar he pulled over and switched off the ignition, breathing heavily. She was someone he could trust to talk to about everything that had happened and she had believed him, something he would have found impossible to do if he were the doctor.

He recalled what she had said in the bar and remembered that he had to keep fighting. He had to find someone else he could share things with. His eyes clear and free of tears, he turned the keys back in the ignition and turned around, heading back home.

The man who had was holding the funeral was a tall, lean man named Jason Robinson, who was supposedly one of Elizabeth's closest friends. Jesse entered cautiously, feeling out of place amidst her family and friends - which judging by the crowd wasn't a large group. Most of the people were patients of hers - a couple of large women were clustered around the refreshments table, and a few other men and women were casually strolling about. Only Jason appeared truly distressed, wringing his hands nervously as he stayed as far away from the coffin as he could, as if repelled by some invisible force.

"Hi." Jesse said, shaking Jason's hand. "I'm very sorry."

"Were you one of her patients?" The man asked, his eyes locking onto Jesse's.

He nodded. "Yes, I was. She didn't have a very large family, did she?" He asked, noticing the lack of true grief in the room, other than the man in front of him. Then, after a slight pause, he added, "You two weren't - married, were you?"

Jason shook his head slowly. "We were divorced about, uh, a month or two ago. After everything that happened, we just couldn't really bear to be with each other." Noticing a familiar face entering the parlor, he excused himself hastily and rushed to meet them.

Again feeling much out of place, he boldly ventured over to the table of food, feeling somewhat guilty for eating at a time like this, but knowing fully that it would help him get his mind off of things for a while.

"So they were married for a while." Began one of the women gathered around the opposite end of the table, gossiping loudly among her friends. "And she got pregnant, too. But after a week - " she broke off, leaning closer into the circle of women but still maintaining the same volume as before. "They had a robbery. The guy kidnapped the baby."

Jesse edged closer in order to hear the rest of the story. "They found him a couple of days later," the woman continued, pleased to be at the center of attention, "and he was dead."

The women murmured their shock, pausing only to cram more food in their mouths. Jesse glanced over at Jason, talking to a particularly grief-stricken woman in the corner while looking weary himself, wringing his hands as if he was about to suddenly have a breakdown right then and there. For a moment Jesse thought he would, realizing what must have been the reason for Elizabeth and Jason not being able to stand each other after an incident like that.

Uncomfortable, Jesse looked around the room, moving towards the table that held the casket. He cautiously approached it, peering inside, noting how much more peaceful Elizabeth looked when she was lying inside the padded coffin, her scars and cuts from the accident masked by the craftsmanship of the embalmer.

There was an unexplainable unnerving quality about standing near her body. He was expecting her to sit up any minute now, as if she had been asleep the entire time, but her chest ceased to move and her eyes stayed closed. With bodies at the scene of the accident it was easier to see them as dead because of their wounds and visible injuries. When they were in caskets it just looked like they were resting.

Without saying anything, he walked out of the funeral home.

As soon as he walked in the door Amelia was there, gazing at him sadly. "I'm sorry, Jesse." She said, enveloping him in a hug. His eyes stared forward, blank and dry, but feeling an odd sensation of loss. He could talk to Amelia about anything, he knew, anything but what he had told Elizabeth. That was something that had been helpful for him to tell someone he trusted but didn't love, so that if they left him he wouldn't be heartbroken. Like if he had told Amelia - he knew she would have walked out on him right then and there.

"Thanks." He said dully, and she recognized his need for space. Heading back towards the bedroom, she left him with a final encouraging smile.

She stopped in her tracks when she heard his voice behind her. "Amelia?"

"Yeah?" She responded, turning to face him.

"Listen," he said, swallowing hard. "I really need to talk to you." It had only taken him a moment to decide that if she was going to run out on him, if she was going to leave him because of this, she didn't love him. And if she didn't love him, she didn't deserve his love in return.

She nodded. "All right."

Later that night he stayed up, after she fell asleep. She had taken the news quite well, considering it was a lot to handle. But now as he watched her sleep, he realized that this whole time he hadn't bothered to put himself in the shoes of the other person - the person on the receiving end of his story. All along he had been expecting people to understand immediately, but he had never thought about the other people who considered aliens make-believe creatures who existed only in the minds of lunatic madmen desperate for attention.

During his story she had said nothing, sitting and patiently hearing everything out - almost, he thought with a cringe, like Elizabeth did. He only saw one tear slide down her cheek silently, but he still kept talking.

And how she was asleep and he wondered if that had been the right thing to do, to blurt out everything that had happened so quickly. He propped himself up against the headboard, sitting up straight and staring straight ahead, looking at his reflection in the mirror and gazing at himself in the eye. It was just like what he had done in the bar, that night he had been with Elizabeth. _The last time he had seen her_, he realized, and once again wondered why he was feeling this. She was only his psychiatrist, but losing her made him feel like he had lost something much more.

"Honey?" Amelia asked drowsily, rolling over. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah." He responded quietly. "Are you . . . " He trailed off, knowing she understood what he meant.

She began to nod, then stopped. "I don't know what to think, Jesse. But I love you and we're going to make it through this together. You can see someone else - "

"I don't need to see someone else." He interrupted angrily. "I'm not crazy. I don't need anyone else. I'm fine."

"Jesse." She said firmly. "If we could just . . . ignore this for now, that would be better. If we could just forget about it, maybe we could just pretend it never happened or something, OK?"

He almost laughed at her assumption that if they pretended it wasn't there it would go away, like a bad dream, before understanding that might be the only way to deal with the situation. "Jesse," she continued, "Just do it for Charlie. I don't want him to grow up believing his dad's crazy when I know you're not."

"OK." He said, and watched her roll her again, her breathing patterns indicating she was sleeping.

He must have fallen asleep sitting up, because he didn't remember lying back down.

"Hey, honey." Amelia greeted him with a plainly strained grin as he woke up later that morning. She was at the dresser, pushing in her earring, glancing back at him in the mirror.

"You really are trying to ignore it, aren't you?" He asked, his voice containing a hint of incredulousness. "Amelia, it's not something that's going to go away just because you want it to."

She nodded. "I know. I'm going to make some calls today, though, and see if there's someone available we can get to help you. Dr. Goodman" - Jesse flinched upon hearing her name - "helped you, and if we find someone else that can help you that much I think we can deal with this."

"Fine." He said, yawning as he stretched his way out of bed, "Did you check out that daycare for Charlie?"

"I'm dropping him off on my way to work." Amelia said, finally getting the earring to stay and turning to face him. "Jesse, I just want it to be like it was when we were first together, when we were happy." Noticing the look on his face she added quickly, "I mean, when we didn't have _this_ hanging over our heads."

He shrugged, unsure of what else to do, and watched her rush out of the room. "I'll be back by five. Give me a call if you'll be late."

When he heard the door click shut he wondered if telling her had really been the smartest thing to do.

He called into work sick later that morning. He didn't feel he could handle more torment right now, and having to break the news of the loss of a loved one to a deceased's family member was always emotionally trying.

He had been thinking about that second session a lot nowadays, probably because it had been the first time in his life he had confided something like that to someone he hardly knew in such a short time. It was also the day he had seen Chad die, he remembered, and that brought back memories he had preferred to stay buried. Memories of not being able to pay for drugs, of having to come as close as one could with selling his soul in order to pay for them. Not to mention living alone, wherever he could, buying food with whatever money he could scrounge up at the moment. But that was before he had met Amelia, and he preferred to live in the present rather than the past.

She felt unnerved about leaving her child's safety in the hands of complete strangers, even if those complete strangers were authorized to watch her child by some obscure federal agency she had never heard of. Amelia smiled to herself as she wondered how she was going to handle letting Charlie go on a date by himself if she couldn't drop him off at daycare without having second thoughts.

When she had grown up her parents had fought more often that not, and she would sit in her room, her fingers firmly planted in her ears as she huddled under the blankets. Eventually, though, she learned to deal with it by ignoring it, trying to block out the shouting and the screaming by reading a book or writing in a journal.

She didn't want Charlie to have to grow up like that, living with two miserable people who were too busy bickering to have any time to love their child. So when Jesse had talked to her, she had gone with her old method of defense - ignorance. She realized fully how childish it was of her to believe in solving a problem by avoiding it, but she couldn't help it.

Her job was the way she got out from under the covers and stopped ignoring her problems. Being a nurse let her help others as well as herself, providing her with the satisfaction of saving another person from a fate like hers.

Mechanically, she walked up the stairs that Jesse had stumbled up so long ago in, to her, a comfortable routine. She made a vow to herself that when she got home she wouldn't try to avoid the problem, and she wouldn't make it someone else's by sending him to a psychiatrist. She would talk to him herself and sort this whole thing out.

Somewhere inside of her told her he wasn't lying. But somewhere else there was a voice telling her she didn't want to believe that, because she wouldn't let herself believe that.


	6. Chapter 6

And thus ends the [not quite epic] saga that has been "Ghost Train". It's a quick and rather abrupt ending, but I had nothing else to put in between. So enjoy anyway - writing this has been fun and difficult at the same time, and I'm sad to see it come to an end. Thanks to everyone who reviewed/beta'd, especially Dave. Oh, and I don't own "Taken", either.

**"Love is a ghost train howling on the radio**

**'Remember everything,' she said, 'when only memory remains.'"**

**- "Ghost Train", Counting Crows**

It had been nine years, but sometimes it felt like a lifetime. Other times it only felt like it had been yesterday he was sitting with Liz in that office, telling her things he hadn't the heart to tell anyone else. The memories had mostly faded, but some things still remained - it was strange how he couldn't remember exactly what she looked like, but he could still recall that slightly musty smell of the books that lined the walls of her office.

Ignorance had worked for them. Amelia and Jesse never talked about 'it' any more, now that Charlie was older. His confession had gone from a looming shadow in the back of Amelia's mind to a faint silhouette of something before fading away completely.

And now he sat in the kitchen, alone in the dark, as a few rays of moonlight crept through his window and illuminated the top of the table. He stared straight ahead, blankly gazing at nothing in particular.

For weeks he had seen people following him around, even once catching a glimpse of the elusive Eric Crawford. He knew they were moving in on him, that they wanted something and that something was him. But he knew that while Amelia meant nothing to them, Charlie probably meant the most. And he couldn't allow those government people to take his family, no matter what the risk.

His gaze shifted to the bedroom, where Amelia had woken and noticed his disappearance. She entered the kitchen quietly, asking him what was wrong.

"Nothing," came his choked reply. Then, knowing he wasn't fooling anyone, he added, "You have to go away. Charlie too."

Amelia smiled uncertainly. "What? Jesse . . . are you sure you're all right?"

"You have to believe me." He said, shaking. "There are some people who want to see me, and Charlie, and I can't let that happen." Tears were beginning to well in his eyes, and he felt ashamed. Men didn't cry in front of their wives.

She saw he wasn't joking. "Just for a couple of nights?" Amelia asked, and then knew it would be for a lot longer than that. "Jesse - " She began to protest.

"No." Jesse replied. "You and Charlie, you have to leave. There are people who want to hurt you, Amelia." He felt a pain more sharp than anything he had ever felt before course through him.

Her heart broke at the thought of leaving him. She couldn't. But something in his tone told her they had to, that this was the only thing he would ever ask her to do for him again. She had to grant him this last request.

"OK." She whispered. As she left to get Charlie tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she paused at the doorway of their house with their son in arms. "Goodbye." Amelia whispered that last word so softly he would not have heard it if not for the utter silence filling the rest of the house.

Jesse sat by the window still, not daring to look over at them until he heard the door click as they exited. Cursing the people he knew would be coming soon, he stared out the window and followed Amelia and Charlie with his eyes as he watched the only two people he would ever truly love and would have love him back drive away from him forever.

He didn't notice the tears streaming down his face until later; when they began to cloud his vision and turn everything into a large, shapeless blur.

He was still sitting in the chair when he heard the knock at the door. God knew how long he had been sitting there - the moonlight was replaced with the harsh rays of sunlight piercing his eyes, hurting him. Slowly he turned his gaze to the door, and he knew they would take him away. Good. He couldn't stand to be here any longer, where everything still reminded him of Amelia and Charlie and times when he was happy.

"Mr. Keys?" Came a familiar voice, followed by a few sharp taps at the door. "We'd like to talk to you."

Jesse sighed and closed his eyes, and waited for them.

~Fin

February 13, 2004


End file.
